


What Would You Do Without Me?

by brushspell



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Road Trips, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brushspell/pseuds/brushspell
Summary: Brumm and Grimm have a small moment between kingdoms. Tender yet spicy, just like all the best fics and also chicken wings.
Relationships: Brumm/Grimm (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 78





	What Would You Do Without Me?

“Are we all settled, then?” Grimm asks, just as always, pushing his way to the front of the wagon with the soft whisper of silk and the slightest whiff of brimstone. Like cologne. The wagon creaks and protests even under his graceful steps, but Brumm is as unshakable as stone. He simply nods, taking the reigns into his hands as Grimm settles beside him, dancing a few steps in his seat as he finds a comfortable spot, before settling into the usual sprawl.   
  


“You know,” The tall bug suddenly says, as if the idea had just occurred to him, as if this was not a conversation they had every time they set out for a new kingdom, “Why don’t you let me drive, for a change?”

  
Brumm does not shift. Instead he tightens his grip on the reigns, tightens his eyes behind his mask. “Mmrm. It will be a long journey, master.”   
  
Grimm chuckles, pressing hands to his chest, long fingers splayed. “Well, then let me drive for a leg of it! Surely you could use the rest, if it is indeed such a long trip!”

Brumm shakes his head, knowing all too well the consequences of such a thing. “You must remember, master, the time with the ditch… mmmrm… it was such a rough job, pushing the wagon back over…”

Grimm huffs, slumping back dramatically, irritably, kicking a leg out. But he is defeated. Same as always. Same as ever. “It wasn’t that big a ditch…” Brumm hears him mutter, and Brumm cannot help but to smile to himself as he gently urges the beasts forward, creaking the wagon to life.

Slowly, the world around them settles into a soft susurration that lulls and soothes not by the monotony of it, but by the gentle way even the most striking of monuments and ruins melds into the background, fading into the windswept wastes as easily and as seamlessly as though some divine paintbrush had come to blur them all away. Brumm feels Grimm settle beside him, first into slumping and then into soft slumber, his cloak gathering around him as his head lolls back on the padded seat, his fangs stretched open to the heaven like a flytrap. He sleeps poorly, when not inverted, and yet there’s something charming about the gawking awkwardness of it.

As the gentle scenery rolls by, Brumm cannot help his thoughts from straying to what Brumm increasingly thinks back upon as the “Good Old Days”... when it was more than just him and Divine and Grimm’s fading life and a final tour. When they’d argued about who would be Troupe Master, until Grimm had pointed out, perhaps rightfully, that the wagon and tent had been his inheritance, so that made him leader. How Brumm wishes that he had argued harder, that he had pushed for the role, even if perhaps he did not want it at the time. Perhaps it would have been no different. Perhaps it would have made all the difference. Either way, it would have spared Grimm his awful fate.

A bump in the road jostles the wagon, and Grimm stirs, groaning softly, before Brumm’s gentle hand on his shoulder settles him back down again. Grimm sleeps so often now, and so little of it is restful. It seems like the Nightmare grips him more tightly, more jealously these days, pulling him away for hours, leaving him fiery eyed and lost - his mind locked in the Nightmare Heart’s twisted realm of dreams, his body free to roam and wander the circus like a violent sleepwalker. Sometimes, Brumm risks a peek into the cracks between the tent-flaps, just to see if he is hunter or hunted tonight - if he is monstrous and fey, or cowering and cringing.

Once, just once, he’d made the mistake of coming inside. Of throwing the door wide, of letting the light in, of seeing his master coil in on himself and hiss against the light, before springing to knock Brumm to the floor, all fangs and claws and blind predatory instinct. Brumm has never before or since felt such heights of fear and excitement run through him as when he saw the light of recognition return to Grimm’s eyes, saw it mingle with the hunger there and turn, like stage magic, to something far more vivid and deep than predatory desire.

But just like the pop and sizzle of pyrotechnics, the flash was intense, but brief - beautiful, but fleeting, and Brumm had to watch the master back away, hands palm up, apologies spilling forth in a torrent as he’d backed away like he was the one afraid… and to his sorrow, Brumm had felt the ashes of disappointment fill him up just as fully and completely as that delighted terror had filled him before…

But… perhaps even less heartening than that is the way that he’s seen Grimm drift since then. Not just from the troupe, but from himself. It had started then, but in truth, Brumm had seen shades of it before. Grimm would fall into the Nightmare and come out shaken and tired, but one look at the worry on the Troupe’s faces and he’d almost come roaring back to health. All in facade, of course - and Brumm knows Grimm well enough to know an act. But it had fooled them well enough back when there were more bugs around, back when people came to see the shows - back when they ran performances that did not involve the Flame…

Yes… as the Nightmare Heart’s demands grew louder and more frequent, so too did Grimm grow ever more erratic, and as his time dwindled away, he almost seemed to try to compensate by trying to be… ever more himself in ever less time. Louder, brasher, ever more a stage persona and ever less a genuine person…

And now the only time Brumm ever gets to spend with the bug he knew, really knew, is on trips like this. Where Grimm sleeps beside him, just like he used to, lulled to sleep by the swaying of the wagon in a matter of minutes - always in the front, eager for the view at first and then immediately soothed to sleeping by it. Just like always, Brumm reaches up with the edge of Grimm’s collar and uses it to wipe away a little trail of drool. He won’t notice the patch of wetness. He never does.

“...Mmrm. What would you do without me, master?” Brumm murmurs, the quirk of a smile playing in his voice.

To his surprise, Grimm shifts in his sleep, eyelids moving. A nightmare for the King of Nightmares? It wouldn’t be the first time, but no… he looked so peaceful a moment ago… “...couldn’t… bear it…”

“...Mm. Master?” Brumm reaches out to touch a pale cheek, and finds it damp with tears.   
  
“...sorry… shouldn’t… everyone… sorry… for my sake… you shouldn’t have to… ah…” Brumm listens to the disconnected words, wondering if perhaps he should shake Grimm awake… and then, to his surprise, he feels Grimm topple to the side, leaning on him, a thin hand coming up to rest in his fur.   
  
“...Brumm… stay with me… just like always… my old friend...”

  
Brumm stiffens. Feels his fur bristle and wonders if Grimm will feel it. Wonders if it will wake him. But he feels Grimm nuzzling into him, feels his master settle at the feel of him, and sighs, just a little. If this will help… if this will help him sleep, help him relax…   
  
Then he hopes this is a long leg of the trip indeed.   
  
“Of course, master.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fic. I make it, you read it. Leave comment. Leave kudos.


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